Starting
by swerveculture
Summary: Love wasn't the adequate word, or maybe it was a lack thereof, he couldn't figure it out. Rated for language. Bad at summaries but give the story a chance and allow yourself to smile, blush, fan girl, relate, and/or laugh at the content. Daryl x Carol ONESHOT


Hi guys, this is my first fanfic I've written since... my freshman year of high school. I'm a freshman in college now. Let's see how this goes down. Please give me an abundant amount of reviews. I am writer and I want to get better, as most writers do. The separation lines are there to let you know when a flashback is happening which constitutes most of the piece. I ship Carol and Daryl so hard (secretly ship myself with Norman Reedus, but I'll settle to live vicariously through these two). I'll let you interpret the title freely.

**Fight the dead. Fear the living. **

- Ash

* * *

She had volunteered to go on a supply run with him. His head reared back like he had caught a whiff of something foul in the air. Carol was never one to volunteer to go on supply runs. It was so uncharacteristic of her that he had to supress a baffled snort. Her eyes flicked over at him and he tensed, his eyes narrowing down at her slightly.

The remaining cell blocks on their level, once vacant and used for supply storage, were occupied by the group of Woodbury refugees the group had taken in about a week ago. The elders could hold their own with the scarce supply of food, but the children often whined of the hunger when one bowl of stew was not enough to satify their appetites. Even though their meals were rationed in Wodbury, they were fed three meals a day. Supplies were easier to get when you had a whole artillery to gun down any walkers that were to cross your path. Supply runs for the residents of Woodbury had to be comparable to easter egg hunts for high schoolers.

They had not seen the governor since the last raid on the prison and after a few days tensions still ran high within the prison. Tyrese was put in charge of assigning watches to all who were able. There were guards covering every side of the prison, scoping out the yard and thicket of forest beyond the chainlink and barbed wire fences. Everyone knew that the Governor was still very much alive and after the massacre along the roadway occurred it was evident that he was off his rocker. He was down in numbers, but, regardless, he was not to be underestimated.

He had Martinez and many believed that was all he needed. The newcomers and original gang constantly discussed the foreboding feeling they shared among one another. They worried that the Governor will come back any day to take out all of the survivors, feed their wounded bodies to the walkers clinging to the fences outside, and claim their stake on the prison. Talks of fleeing before any of this occurred reached Rick's attention to which he dismissed with the wave of a hand. He was cautious and worried, recognizing the worst case scenario played into the equation, but he knew the Governor would not risk two against the many that had joined their side.

Nonetheless, Daryl, among the many others, was aware the threat still exsisted. Rick's lax attitude did nothing to subside the twisting gut feeling that rippled through his body at the thought of this prison turning into a death camp. He scoffed at the thought, _this place already is one enough_. They had no choice but to stay, moving this big of a group from the prison and out in the open was too risky. No one was garunteered survival outside of those gates, the Governor's actions attested to this.

He had helped Carol situate the newcomers the day they arrived into each of the cells. "Helped" was a loose term to use. Daryl shuffled awkwardly around the people, prepping each of the cells with extra blankets they had salavged from a laundry room, and gave a downcast nod and grunt to whoever would openly express their gratitude. He slipped in and out of each cell quietly and said nothing to those around him, his lips pressed in a line, his eyes meeting no one else's except for the cinderblock walls or floor. He rounded the corner and heard Carol's laughter floating through the desolate space.

Her laughter made the corners of his lips twitch upwards. _Beautiful_, he thought carelessly but a second later he cursed himself. Real men didn't use that kind of word in abundance. Merle had once made fun of him when he was younger. Daryl had a crush on a neighborhood girl with long dark hair that brought out the freckles on her sun kissed skin.

She was a farmer's daughter and he watched her fetch the mail every day from his bedroom window or the porch, waving awkwardly whenever she would acknowledge him from across the street. "Hi Daryl," she called after him one day while he was picking at his worn out boots. He waved, trying not to smile bashfully at her radiant grin and hair whipping in the soft breeze. "Hi beautiful," he muttered as she turned to skip back down the driveway, her overalls excentuating the curve of her bottom. He heard a sudden gagging sound and choked laughter that came from behind.

Daryl jumped up, blood rushing to his ears, turning around just in time to see his older brother double over the porch railing, obviously amused to a point where he thought he was about to be sick.

"Shuddup!" Daryl barked.

"Pussy," Merle snickered as he regained his composure and towered over his younger brother.

Daryl spat over the porch railing, "Somethin' funny? You didn't hear nothin'."

Merle shook his head, still amused, "Say that shit again and your ass is outta this house. Think she'll look you over twice?" He shuddered, trying to hold back more laughter. Daryl's fists were clenched, knuckles white and teeth gritted to a point where it pained him.

"No chance lil' bro. Just 'cause she's country don't mean she doesn't have standards. Sure as hell know that she'll be invitin' you over for some tea and crumpets once she catches you sayin' that to her. Maybe you can play with her cat too if she lets ya." Daryl's eyes narrowed in evident dissapointment.

"Awh don't get your panties in a whirl, little brother. When you learn to be a man, come talk to me. I'll show you how to tame a bitch." Daryl winced at his insenitive comment. He would never call the girl across the street a bitch, no matter what she did. Merle, seeming satisfied, retreated back into the house, slamming the screen door shut behind him.

After that day he never regarded any girl as "beautiful". It was only another thing he could blame his brother for. Merle took everything about the conventional essence of childhood and robbed Daryl of it. Girls were forever to remain a mystery to him because the fear of being constantly taunted for his feelings by his older brother was too daunting. Chivalry was only good when you wanted to bring the girl back to your bed at night. Nevermind sexual experience, Daryl took no stalk in pursuing a woman in general, for emotional or physical pleasure.

He never bothered to learn the name of the girl across the street. Eventually, she stopped fetching the mail around the same time he ceased roosting on the porch. He stopped waiting for her and watching her as she danced up and down the driveway every evening with her braided chestnut hair bouncing and oversized flannel shirts that fluttered around the contours of her slender torso. Carol was different in so many ways he couldn't simply count on both hands. Since Sophia's untimely death she was a changed woman and she even admitted this on occasion. Her crystal blue eyes had a fire that was not there before.

She seldom patroled the perimeter of the fences alone, but when she did Daryl watched her closely from a small distance, crossbow ready at any sign of danger or distress. She held her machete she claimed as her own, arching back on one leg, stretching it out so the other would provide her stabilty. Her elbows bended in towards her chest as if she were taking in the energy around her, gripping the machete with both hands. She suddenly lunged forward, her machete going through the fence and making a clear puncture in an unlucky walker's rotting head. She swiftly pulled her machete out and quickly moved to the next target. She became more agile with the weapon every passing day she went out to pratice.

Daryl would look on, smirking and heart swelling with pride. She was a woman taking back her life in this godforsaken world. He could not give her enough credit for having the stomach to hack at her dead husband's head with a pickaxe. To look on as her only child and lifeline stumbled out of a barn, groaning and snarling with the hunger for flesh. The gunshot that rocked the foundation of her very existence seemed like a distant memory for her.

He would sometimes hear her at night, attempting to muffle her loud sobs into the pillow without much success. His eyes would remain glued to the wall he shared with her cell, his hand grazing the cinderblock and wishing it was her cheek he could stroke. He would mentally kick himself for not having the balls to get up and lay with her, his shirt soaking in her every tear, his lips gently caressing her forehead, and his arms in a protective hold over her. No matter who she had become since Sophia died she still had lost her only child; her only legacy. She was the remaining survivor of the original Atlanta quarry group and as awful it was to think, he was glad it was her.

There was a sense of urgency that came with his growing feelings for Carol. Love wasn't the adequate word, or maybe it was a lack thereof, he couldn't figure it out. Since the girl across the street, he had shunned himself from pleasant exchanges between the opposite sex. This apocalypse had put him in closer quarters with women than he had when everyone wasn't trying to claim stake on his brain and muscle tissue. Everything can change in an instant, he learned this fast when the world went to hell in the blink of an eye, and he woke up every morning knowing it may be his last.

He didn't wish to leave it without at least giving Carol one good look in the eye and spilling out his feelings as best as he could, knowing how awful he was at communicating them in the first place. He wanted to tell her how it made him feel like he was her anchor of safety whenever she wrapped his arms around him on the back of his motorcycle, that meeting her eyes made him feel two inches tall and giddy with warmth, that her delicate hand was like a welcome relief to his nervous system whenever she interlaced her's with his, and that the sound of her saying his name made him want to fall to his knees. He thought all of these things behind a stiffened posture and harsh downcast glare. His arms crossed over his chest protectively as if he were trying to silence the thoughts his heart was trying to scream out. Her attempts to have a conversation with him failed miserably in most cases, but this was due to Daryl's lack of focus and struggle to communicate around Carol.

She would ask questions that would require more than a grunt or silent nod as an answer. He would wring his hands together, bite his nails, or unecessarily adjust his crossbow, anything to avoid eye contact with her. She made him nervous and she caught onto this easily, scratching the back of her neck and grinning while he stumbled over his feet as he brushed past her.

Looking at her now as she straightened her posture and lifted her chin slightly, her serious expression made Daryl want to smile with pride. She seemed so confident and Daryl wanted to tell her how a woman with that much confidence didn't deserve to be alone at night. At the same time he would not risk her life for a simple supply run that could turn deadly if the Governor wanted to pick them off one by one. Seeing her in his clutches made his fists curl in fury and he shook his head quickly, "You're stayin'."

Carol rolled her eyes, "It will be fine. Besides you need me there to stock up on feminine supplies which I'm pretty sure you have no idea how to go about retrieving them."

"What's so hard about pickin' up a box of maxi pads?" He challenged.

"It's not just that, it's female things in general. Plus formula and baby supplies for Little Ass Kicker here." Carol was already holstering her machete, adjusting it so she could whip it out if the situation called for it. She looked back at Daryl who had his arms crossed and lips pressed in a thin line. He was muttering curses under his breath.

He knew that whatever he said she would ignore his comments and tag along. There was no chance of swaying this woman. She shot a glance at Rick sitting in the corner craddling baby Judith. Rick raised his eyebrows at him as if to say, _Don't get me involved in this._ Daryl let out a frustrated sigh and started heading towards the pickup parked outside.

Carol followed closely on his heels and he could feel her satisfied smirk burn a hole in the back of his neck. He cursed himself under his breath for bowing down to this woman. So manipulative without even trying to be and yet he admired her tactic. She knew how to sway him with her take charge attitude and would not tolerate any of his rebuttals. He ignored all of the side glances he was getting from those around him.

When Glenn yelled after them inquiring where they were going, "Supply run," Carol happily chirped in response. Daryl shot her a harsh look, "This ain't gonna be no walk in the park. Stay serious, dammit." Carol silenced and remained silent once they slide into Daryl's pickup. He shoved the key into the ignition and turned, the pickup groaned to life, a good half tank of gas ready for use.

Glenn and Maggie drew the walkers wandering around the gate away with hollers and taunts while Michonne stood ready to slide the gate open for their passage. As the pickup rolled past, Michonne gave Carol a sly smirk and Carol returned it with a wave and weary smile. Daryl kept his face stoic and glued to the road ahead. One of his hands firmly clenched the steering wheel while the other lolled out of the window allowing the wind to whip his hair about wildly. Carol closed her eyes and breathed in the wind that cooled her skin covered in perspiration from the Georgia heat.

Daryl glanced over as her head rested on the corner of the window, her eye lids a soft brown from the eye shadow that stained her skin after using it so consistently before there was no reason to get dolled up for any occasion. His glances grew longer while he struggled to maintain focus on the road ahead of him. Her eyes fluttered open after some time and his head shot back to looking ahead. Her fingers brushed over the stereo system, pushing the power button, frowning when every station she dialed into gave off static. She remembered the days where she would pick Sophia up from school and allowed her to sit in the front, dubbing her DJ Sophia for the duration of the ride home.

Her daughter would flip through each of the stations and they would sing along to Miley Cyrus's Party In The USA. She could still hear Sophia's voice wailing the lyrics out of the open window, shamelessly bobbing her head and whipping her hair around. "Nodding my head like yeah!" Carol would sing. "Movin' my hips like yeah!" Sophia would finish.

Carol would shimmy her shoulders ridiculously and Sophia would giggle for the rest of the ride home. They sang and danced until they pulled into the driveway where they had to turn down the volume and their cheerful singing turned into a solemn silence. They would pull up next to Ed's parked car and exit the vehicle without a word, walking up the porch steps and entering the mad house with emotionless expressions. Her eyes watered at the memory and she sniffed loudly enough for Daryl to look over curiously. His hand reflexively clenched on the steering wheel over her distressed frown.

"You alright?" He mummbled. She nodded without a word and exhaled loudly. His eyes kept peering over at her as she rummaged through his glove compartment, having no idea what she was looking for.

"What are you doin'?" He asked.

Carol did not look up. "You have a CD player. You must have CDs lying around somewhere."

"Why don't you stop rummaging through my shit and just ask." Daryl stated rather than inquired.

Carol said nothing and pulled out a blank CD. She gestured it towards Daryl and he shrugged, gnawing at his fingertips. "I made it a long time ago. Hell if I know what's on it. I didn't even name it so it must be a mix tape of some sorts."

Carol became even more curious, eyeing the CD with wonder. _A Daryl Dixon mixtape_, she thought to herself. She did not hesitate to pop the CD in, waiting for the outdated player to read the tracks, listening to the faint scratching sound of the disc turning in it's place. The car speakers started to blare with drums and an upbeat synthesized melody. She automatically smiled and nudged Daryl whose ear's were on fire with embarassment.

He cursed under his breath. _Don't You (Forget About Me) _by Simple Minds broke the silence between the two. Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his seat, speeding up so they would arrive at their destination before all of the blood had the chance to reach to his face. Judging by Carol's initial reaction to the first track he didn't want to imagine what else he had burned onto that disc that would leave him victim to the butt of Carol's jokes from this day forward. He made a movement to eject the disc to prevent further embarassment until she put a hand over his to stop him. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!" Carol sang out.

Daryl looked over at her incredulously. She was singing along to this? Her shoulders shimmied in place and her head bobbed with the beat. "What a throwback! Didn't know you liked _The Breakfast Club_." She teased.

"I don't like that chick flick shit. Merle must have put it on here as a joke." He defended haughtily. He didn't like the song because of the movie, he had never seen the movie in the first place, he liked it for the sake of liking it. Music was a private matter for Daryl, among many other aspects of his life.

Merle was the reason he did not label the CDs he made for himself. If he had found out that he took a liking to Simple Minds, Daryl would get a thorough beating and the taunting would never end. _Don't matter now_, he thought somberly. "I don't believe that, but okay." Carol spoke softly. She started to sing again and Daryl did not want her to stop.

Her dance movements were awkward and uncoordinated but Daryl looked on in fascination, a smile daring to reveal itself. "Tell me your troubles and doubts. Giving me everything inside and out. Love's strange, so real in the dark." She sang the verse slower than the lead singer.

Daryl eased his foot slightly off the gas pedal, wanting to drink in the sound of her lovely voice. He ached to see her smile and be this content every day and he wished that some day he could be the reason for her glowing smile and laughter. _Not now_, he thought, his eyes wandering over her form. Her body was free of tension, her grin was radiant, and her eyes shining in the sunlight hitting them through the windshield. Dixon men didn't sing along to songs but he did tap his fingers on the steering wheel, head bobbing ever so slightly, his eyes squinted from the glare of the sun.

The second chorus came along and Carol wailed out louder this time. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!" She pumped her fists in the air with every "hey". Daryl stiffled a laugh and Carol looked over, catching his amused smile and playfully punched him in the arm. His eyes caught hers and for a moment they took each other in.

Their bodies still sweaty from the humid air filtering through the car from the open windows. His hair was rising and falling with each gust of wind it caught and hers flowed back and forth like prairie grass. He raised his eyebrows and said lowly, "Hey." The end of the song neared and the split second they locked eyes felt interminable. He turned his attention back to the road, but switched driving hands, letting his free arm wrap around Carol's shoulder and pull her closer, cuddling her into his arm.

She tensed momentarily then relaxed under the reasurring squeeze he gave and caressing movements he made over her arm. He could feel her hot breath go through his thin sleeveless shirt and his body relaxed. Her head lolled and rested on his shoulder and the moment was nothing short of perfect. He wanted to tell her how he felt at that very moment but when he turned his head her eyes were closed and her breaths were short and steady. He brushed his lips over the tips of her hair, not daring to touch her skin.

He would gently nudge her awake when they reached their destination, but in the meantime he would let her rest. He would not let any harm come upon her, walker or human. He would wait to muster up enough courage to share his feelings, in his own Daryl way. This moment was too perfect to spoil over fretting about the future and reminiscing on the past. There was only the now and even though he told himself, _not now_, he smiled and thought, _but it's a hell of a start. _


End file.
